


A Primal Attraction

by SirSigil



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-10-31 22:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSigil/pseuds/SirSigil
Summary: Skyrim is a dangerous place at the best of times. Sometimes a helping hand is necessary to survive, even if the hand that offers is green and alien. A chance encounter on the road spins Ysolda’s world around. (FemOrc DB / Ysolda).





	1. A Wild Storm

**A Wild Storm**

A fresh flurry of cold, wet snow flew straight into Ysolda’s face as she trudged wearily on home. The vicious wind cried high and wailing as it lashed against her. Even through the multiple layers of cloth and fur, she could feel the freeze down to her bones. The blanket of white at her feet shuffled with a faint crunch as she worked her way across the landscape.

Managing to strain her eyes open a little against the assault, she could barely make out anything ten feet ahead of her. The redhead’s sigh was lost to the wind immediately. She couldn’t be far from Whiterun now. All she could do was just follow the path beneath her feet and pray the Divine’s didn’t lead her astray. As much of a Nord that she was and loved her homeland, she couldn’t help but wonder if the snow strewn wastes of Skyrim were at times out to kill her and all other inhabitants of the Northern Province. Divines’ know that life in the north of Tamriel was challenging enough for its natives, let alone anyone else.

Her thoughts turned to the Khajiit, who so often were resigned to living in trade caravans beyond their native Elsweyr, either that or forage a living through begging or thievery. Though she held much respect and admiration for the Khajiit and their caravans, she just couldn’t imagine traipsing to every corner of Tamriel, whatever the weather.

The whistling in her ears died down a little, but not entirely. With blessed relief she managed to open her eyes more fully than she had in hours. She quickly tried to take everything in, wary that the snowfall could pick again up any second. A faint outline of dark, angular shapes was faintly visible through the blizzard. A welcome sight, she smiled to herself as she recognised her home, Whiterun.

With renewed vigour, she picked up her steps and the pace as she strode on forth towards her goal.

She barely took ten strides before noticing that she was not alone. A figure, cloaked and shadowed by the snow stepped out from behind a tree. Though Ysolda couldn’t make out the stranger’s face, she had no doubt in her mind that they weren’t friendly.

Before Ysolda could do anything more than pause, another three figures appeared as well. Without a word, the bandits slowly converged onto the road ahead, cutting her off.

They drew vicious, crude looking weapons with a series of metallic shrieks. Glancing over her shoulder for a second, the redhead considered turning tail and running for it. She doubted that she would get far, one of the bandits wielded a bow and Ysolda was not willing to test his aim.

Heart hammering in her chest, Ysolda slowly reached beneath her cloak, into her belt for a small iron dagger. She didn’t draw the weapon, not just yet. Let them think her unarmed or just too afraid to fight or flee.

The first bandit approached her. “Alright, just hand over everything you’ve got then you can be on yer’ way.” He drawled just loud enough to be heard over the wind.

Close up, Ysolda now saw he was a fellow Nord. The thought made her blood boil, that her own countrymen would stoop to such, preying on each other on the roadside.

The wind and the snow had calmed down now, giving her a much clearer view of her foes and her chances. Neither were good.

“Or maybe not.” Another bandit approached, male as well though this one was a Dunmer. “She’s a pretty one, ain’t she?”

Their cruel laughter left Ysolda in little doubt as to their intent. She scowled darkly, gripping her meagre dagger tightly, it felt so small and pointless compared to their weapons.

The Dark Elf ambled forward, raising his sword right up to Ysolda’s face.

“How about it then, sweetheart?” His smile was wicked and gleaming. His blade caressed her cheek for a sickening moment, then moved aside to push her hood down. The others continued laughing, and the Dunmer laughed with them, glancing over his shoulder to look at his partners.

It was better than Ysolda could have hoped for.

She lunged forward, raising her dagger and in one fell swoop, she pushed the blade up to the hilt in the bandit’s neck. Hot sticky blood spurt forth over her hand and she almost recoiled from the grisly sight.

The bandit’s head twitched jerkily for a moment before losing all tension. The body fell, Ysolda managed to pull her dagger free as it did. The bandit fell to the ground, a rapidly growing pool of red emanating from the corpse, eyes glassily gazing off into nothing.

Ysolda felt bile building at the back of the throat as she took in the sight. Though she had no qualms about defending herself, she was no warrior. The blood of the dead, of someone she’d just killed was a foreign sight to her.

“You killed Renthis!”

The Nord bandit shouted, enraged. The redhead’s attention was snapped rapidly back to the present.

“You’ll die for that, you bitch!”

A great axe hefted aloft menacingly.

Ysolda staggered back, knowing her dagger would do no good here. The bandit swung wildly, barely missing the merchant’s chest. She scrambled back as fast as she could, too fast. Her foot caught something hidden in the snow. She stumbled and landed in a rough heap in the frozen white.

The bandits rushed to encircle her, cutting her off from the merest hope of escape.

“You’ve nowhere to run now.” The Nord scowled darkly as he heaved his axe once more above his head. Ysolda raised her dagger as if to parry, she knew it was pointless, but she had no other choice. Blood was pumping in her ears relentlessly.

“’ere boss, look.” One of the other bandits interjected before the final low could be delivered.

Annoyed, the Nord bandit turned to look where the other was pointing. Whatever it was must have been important, the bandits all turned away from Ysolda. She couldn’t see what it was from behind the Nord.

“I don’t know what you want, Orc.” He raised his axe menacingly. “But I suggest you move along, else you get the same.”

Ysolda carefully manoeuvred herself to look around the bandits. Standing barely twenty feet away was a female Orc, clad in battered iron armour, the shaft of a great axe of her own emanating from her back. What was most striking of all about the newcomer, was the ferocious glare on the Orc’s face.

The merchant hadn’t had many dealings with Orc’s, but from what little she’d heard they were strong warriors, an absolute terror on any battlefield they encountered.

She wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or scared to see an Orc here and now.

Without uttering even a murmur, the Orc cast her gaze about the bandits. Then, her eyes moved to stare right through Ysolda with a piercing, golden glare. Ysolda felt a chill creep down her neck that had nothing to do with the cold snow. The winds picked up once more, throwing fresh snow at everyone, not that they noticed through the tense standoff. The bandits gripped their weapons anxiously, repeatedly shooting glances at their leader for guidance.

Slowly, the Orc reached up to grasp her great axe.

“Hey!” One of the bandits cried, the one with bow, as he drew his weapon and loosed an arrow.

With a speed that belied her size, the Orc swung to the side, deftly avoiding the shot that was bound for her heart.

Bringing her axe free, the Orc charged with the wind.

The speed of her attack took everyone off-guard. All eyes were cast in shock even as the lead bandit was cleaved in two from shoulder to hip. Bright crimson shot across the snow in a vibrant splatter. The Orc held still for a moment, eyes focussed in her rage, then her face changed and Ysolda saw her features turn in a wicked grin before the storm covered them all with snow.

Only then did the remaining bandits react.

It was like nothing Ysolda had ever seen before. The combination of speed and strength the Orc used to cut down the bandits was almost mesmerising. Each one of the bandits rushed in to meet the interloper, and each time they came off second best. It wasn’t even close.

Blood mixed with the snow in the air and none of it was from the Orc.

With a startling amount of speed, the Orc had cut down the bandits and was the last one standing. The towering figure of muscle was stood still, her back turned to Ysolda. The Orc was panting slightly from her exertions, her head slowly turned left and right as she surveyed the scene, seemingly waiting for more opponents to appear from the trees. Then she slowly turned away from the carnage to face the Nord.

Ysolda almost recoiled at the sight. The blood smeared warrior’s face a vicious snarl, her tusks bared in her rage.

The Orc took one step forward.

Then, an arrow shot across Ysolda’s sight, burying itself into the Orc’s shoulder. The green skinned woman growled more than screamed. Her head whipping round quickly to locate her attacker. Ysolda saw him too, yet another of the bandits had appeared.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the Orc surged towards the bandit with a primal snarl.

Ysolda didn’t wait to see what would happen next. She picked herself up from the snow and ran headlong into the storm, where she hoped Whiterun would be lying in wait.

She heard the peel of metal striking metal ring through the air and a gurgled scream that pierced the howling wind, but still she ran, as though Molag Bal were behind her.

xxx

Reaching the ancient city walls was a blessed relief. The storm had calmed to a steady snowfall by the time Ysolda had reached the great wooden gates. She almost fell through them and collapsed into the city from her exertions and relief. The guards on post didn’t seem to pay her any notice as she passed. Her taxes were clearly being put to good work, she thought bitterly.

Still, in spite of her little misadventure, she wasn’t harmed. Other than the shock and her lack of breath, she was fine.

The merchant cast her gaze down over herself. Some of the bandit’s blood still soiled her clothes, dulled somewhat by the dirt and sleet that clung to her dress, but still noticeable. She felt a small wave of revulsion swarm over her. She was no warrior after all. She was not used to such things.

She quickly made for her small home in the lower district of the city, thankful that the streets were relatively empty, only a few souls wandering about in the early evening light. After washing and changing herself, she went straight to the Bannered Mare. She wasn’t much for drinking excessively like most of her countrymen, but after the day she’d had she needed something to soothe her nerves.

Thankfully the tavern was nearly completely empty by the time she arrived. She quickly ordered a mug of mead and chose to sit alone at a table in the corner. Her mind racing still, some foolish part of her fearing the bandits would burst through the tavern door to finish their task. She shook her head for her foolishness. There was no way those fiends could even get within a league of the city.

Before long the quiet and the mead had calmed her right down and she started to actually enjoy the muted atmosphere. She sat there for quite a while. She enjoyed the tavern when it was calm like this.

The whistle of the wind heralded the opening of the tavern doors. Ysolda surreptitiously turned with a narrow gaze only for her eyes to widen.

The Orc, the same one on the road from before was striding into the tavern, still clad in the same iron armour from before. Dried blood and dirt clung to the green skinned woman, yet nary a mark seemed to be on her. Well, nary a fresh one at any rate. A host of old scars laced green, muscled arms.

The Orc didn’t seem to notice Ysolda and stomped straight up to the bar, ignoring the wary stares from the taverns few occupants. Hulda practically recoiled as the Orc crudely took a seat at a stool in front of the barkeep and made to engage in some form of conversation.

In spite of common sense screaming at her not to, Ysolda found herself curiously gazing over at the warrior woman. The Orc’s head was shaved close at the sides and worn in a longer stripe of jet black hair on top, finished in a short ponytail. Underneath the grime that clung to green skin, Ysolda could make out a plethora of faded scars on the Orc’s bare arms. She belatedly noticed an angry looking wound in the Orc’s right shoulder, the short remnants of an arrow shaft poking out through the flesh. Ysolda involuntarily winced at the sight. She remembered how the Orc earned that wound, saving the merchant’s life while risking her own.

Ysolda sighed wearily into her mug of mead, she knew she ought to go over to the Orc and give her thanks at the very least, even though the very thought of approaching the Orc unsettled her. The ferocious battle rage of the green skinned woman was still fresh in the Nord’s mind.

She looked up again just as the Orc was getting up from her stool. A nervousness settled over Ysolda as the Orc strode over towards the door. The Nord stood from her table and made to intercept the warrior, who was more than a bit taller than the merchant. The green skinned woman finally caught sight of Ysolda and stopped in her tracks, her golden glare narrowing slightly as she appeared to recognise the redhead.

“Greetings.” Ysolda began lamely, having wished she had planned further ahead. “I don’t suppose you remember me.”

“The girl from the road.” The Orc muttered matter-of-factly with half a nod, or was it a shake? Her voice was deep and somewhat coarse, but not intimidating.

Ysolda found herself scowling slightly at the blood splattered warrior.

“_Woman_, the woman from the road.” She corrected with a little heat.

The Orc’s tusked mouth turned up at the sides. Maybe Ysolda was misinterpreting, but it appeared to be an actual smile, not a grimace or a sneer.

“_Woman,_ then.” She inclined her head ever so slightly. Was she mocking the merchant?

The exchange caught Ysolda off guard and she took a moment to appraise the green skinned woman. The ferocious looking warrior was difficult to read, even for the merchant.

“I just wanted to say, thank you.” The redhead finally uttered, bowing her head respectfully. “If you hadn’t been there -”

“You would be dead,” The Orc interrupted abruptly, “or worse.” The warrior appeared to be keen to hurry the conversation to a close and be on her way.

“Is there-“ Ysolda began falteringly, nervous and unsure how to proceed. “Is there at least something I can do to repay you?” The merchant eyed the injury in the Orc’s shoulder. “I could treat that wound for you, stop it-”

“No.” The Orc cut her off immediately, she made to reach the door. “I’ll live.”

The merchant found herself moving to intercept the warrior again, this time she definitely received a scowl. Ysolda idly wondered whether this was even worth the effort, but the Orc had saved her life. Treating the warrior’s wound was the very least she could do.

“You might lose your arm.” The redhead commented sternly, glaring back into that vibrant amber gaze, somehow without flinching.

The Orc turned her gaze to scowl at her wound instead, as if daring it to turn septic and try to kill her. She grunted what could have been a grudging agreement or a denial.

Either way, Ysolda took the initiative.

“Please.” She dared to put a hand on the Orc’s unhurt shoulder, the fanged gaze whipped around again, but the green skinned woman made no attempt to shirk the Nord’s touch. “Let me help.”

Golden amber eyes searched Ysolda’s seas of blue for a few long moments. The merchant held her gaze evenly, surprising herself at her ability to do so. Then the Orc grunted deep in her throat.

“Fine.” Was all she said.

Satisfied, Ysolda moved her hand from the Orc’s shoulder to her elbow and started leading the warrior out of the tavern. The Orc regarded the Nord with suspicion but did not utter so much as a grunt.

xxx

As Ysolda unlocked the door to her humble abode and beckoned the mysterious Orc woman inside, she realised that she hadn’t really thought this through. She had treated injuries before, never a wound earned in battle though. She’d never treated an injured Orc before either, was their biology drastically different to Nords? It also idly crossed her mind that she had just invited a capable fighter into her home, and that Ysolda was certainly in a poor place to defend herself.

Mentally brushing her worries aside, she gestured for the warrior to take a seat by the fire with a nervous smile. The Orc woman duly obeyed, her golden eyes lazily surveying the merchant’s home. Ysolda wasn’t sure if the green skinned woman was impressed, disappointed or simply bored. The warrior had not murmured a single word since agreeing to come with the merchant back at the tavern.

The redhead went to a cupboard and retrieved the scant medicinal materials she had, making a mental note to replenish them later.

“I’m going to need you to remove your armour.” She called over her shoulder. “Just the top part, if you would.” She received a wordless murmur in reply.

Ysolda turned to see the Orc easily hefting the thick metal plating over her head. The merchant couldn’t begin to guess at how much that piece alone weighed. The Orc placed the breastplate on the wooden floor with a dull thud. The warrior sported a dark, sweat stained shirt underneath that had likely seen far too much use.

Ysolda took a breath to steady herself before approaching the Orc, damp cloth and medicine in hand. She placed the articles on a side table before turning her attention to the broken arrowhead still embedded in green flesh. “This will probably sting a bit.” The merchant warned.

Again the Orc merely grunted.

Ysolda began to wonder if she had just imagined hearing the Orc speak earlier.

The redhead kneeled at the side of the Orc and ever so carefully grasped her delicate fingers around the small wooden shaft. Satisfied that she had a good enough grip, she turned her gaze to the Orc’s face.

“So … what’s your favourite colour?”

The Orc’s brow furrowed a little, before she could do little more than open her mouth, Ysolda pulled hard on the arrow. The warrior snarled in pain briefly before regaining her composure. She levelled a fierce glare at the Nord who smiled bashfully back.

“Sorry, but I’ve heard that the best way to handle pain is to … not dwell on it.” She offered lamely.

The Orc regarded her carefully for a few moments, perhaps still considering whether or not to just march out of the door. Still, she stayed in the chair and merely averted her gaze from the merchant with a huff.

Ysolda merely smiled at the Orc’s display and took that as acceptance. The Nord began to gently swab at the angry wound that tore through green skin. The warrior gave no further indication of pain or discomfort, almost as if she was trying to appear impervious to such trifles. Though her expression remained surly throughout, perhaps that was just her resting expression.

As Ysolda carefully worked her way around the injury she found herself focussing on the plethora of scars that interweaved across the Orc’s powerful arms, most of them small, pale and barely noticeable, though some looked vicious and life threatening. If she had to guess, there were probably a large number of old wounds littering all over the green skinned woman’s body as well.

“How long have you been a warrior?” Ysolda asked curiously.

The Orc gave no reply.

“I should have known.” The merchant shook her head with a rueful smile. “You don’t speak much do you?”

“No.” Came the clipped reply so brief and quick that Ysolda almost missed it.

“I’ve managed to get one word out of you, at least.” She smirked at the Orc. “Let’s go for two now.”

Two amber eyes found her again and scowled before turning away yet again.

Somehow, Ysolda found herself enjoying this little game.

“You could at least tell me your name.” She probed gently with a genuine smile. “Unless you’d like me to call you ‘Orc’?”

Said Orc didn’t even bother to grunt at that, apparently making every attempt to appear as though she wasn’t listening.

Ysolda couldn’t help herself from prodding further. “What about ‘Tusks’? Or ‘Green’? Or maybe-”

“Rama.” The green skinned woman all but growled out, still facing away from the Nord. “My name is Rama.”

Ysolda was somewhat stunned that she’d managed to get a solid piece of information out of the warrior.

“Rama.” The merchant tested quietly, hearing a small sigh emanate from the Orc. “A pleasure to meet you Rama, my name is Ysolda.”

Rama merely grunted again, ever aloof.

Ysolda couldn’t quite decide whether she was exasperated or intrigued by this ‘Rama’, perhaps it was both. The merchant gave the Orc an idle smile and turned her attentions back to the wound, she set about applying bandages. Her gaze returned to the scars on Rama’s arm. On closer inspection, Ysolda could see a number of angry looking marks, ones that had probably been left to heal or … not.

“Do you always just leave your wounds to fester?” Ysolda asked Rama pointedly.

The Orc, though her face was turned away from the Nord, seemed to roll her eyes.

The merchant sighed. “You could do yourself some serious damage, or worse.” She pointedly moved her head to try and capture the Orc’s gaze. “Rama?”

Rama merely turned her head further away, shaking her head slightly.

Annoyed, Ysolda reached up and practically wrenched the warrior woman’s head around to face the Nord fully. Rama glared dangerously into the merchant’s eyes, but Ysolda would not back down.

“If you get injured like this again, say you will come to me, or go see a healer.”

“I owe you no promises!” Rama growled dangerously, teeth bared.

“But I owe you for saving my life. So _please_ listen to me when I say that you could die, living like this.” Ysolda retorted, surprisingly calm, given the angry Orc warrior before her.

Rama scowled deep into Ysolda with those golden eyes for a few nervous moments. Then, she snapped her gaze away with a huff and resumed her posture of aloofness.

“What do you care for my fate? I am nothing to you.”

“You’re the woman who saved my life.” Ysolda shook her head with an incredulous smile. “And despite your best efforts to seem like it, you’re clearly not a monster.”

Another glare from the Orc, then her gaze darted to the freshly bandaged wound.

“Is it done?” Came the clipped question.

Ysolda sighed. “Yes, just-” Rama was already fitting her iron breastplate back into place.

“Wait, please!”

The warrior paid the merchant no mind as she got ready and marched over to the door.

“Rama!”

The Orc paused at mention of her name.

“Just- Please be safe.” Ysolda offered weakly, unable to think of anything else.

Rama grunted once. She opened the door. Then in a moment, was gone. The door slammed behind her, more from the Orc’s rage than the force of the storm.

Ysolda let out a long breath and rubbed at her eyes. She ran the whole affair through her mind, thinking of how she could have handled it better, though in many ways the whole situation could have turned out so much worse. She didn’t have to worry about a murderous Orc rampaging through the streets of Whiterun, she hoped. The storm appeared to have passed.

Still, she worried for Rama’s welfare, though clearly a capable warrior, her lack of care for herself was not healthy to say the least. Ysolda had the distinct feeling that if and when she saw Rama again, the Orc would be covered in blood.


	2. A Quest and a Reward

**A Quest and a Reward**

Rama couldn’t always determine why she lingered in any one place more than others. She’d travelled much of Tamriel in her years, yet there some regions she just seemed to prefer over others. Prefer was perhaps the wrong word for it. Put up with? Endure?

Regardless of the reason, the Hold of Whiterun served as good as any other for a place to ply her trade and spend her pay. There never seemed to be a shortage of bandits or thieves that lurked the hills and mountains of the land. Given the ongoing war it was perhaps none too surprising. There were always those looking to profit from a bad situation.

Rama certainly counted herself amongst them, yet she looked to make her gold by putting down those who preyed on others. Whether that made it any better, she wasn’t sure. Blood money was blood money after all. She wasn’t even sure that she cared too much either way. If the Gods wanted to judge her, let them, their disapproval wouldn’t change things for here in the land of the living. Rama mentally cursed as she shut down her circular arguments. That was the one problem with travelling alone. She had only her own thoughts to commune with.

Striding through the streets of Whiterun, Rama ignored the thinly veiled dirty looks and fearful gasps of the stupid and the weak she passed. Sure, Orcs were rare in most parts of Tamriel, but they hardly the stuff of ancient legends. Again, that was probably the wrong term. Legends weren’t avoided in the street or glared at. Legends weren’t feared. Rama had to resist the urge to snarl at a pair of boys, poorly hiding behind a pile of logs. Oh well, if the fools were set to vilify her, then the least she could do is act the part, or was that just being childish?

“Hey, Orc girl!”

The overly familiar call drew both Rama’s attention and a laboured eye roll. The Orc turned to see Jenassa strolling towards her. The Dunmer was of a similar ilk to Rama, a blade for hire who’d made Whiterun her base of operations. That and the fact that she was one of the few people Rama could genuinely put up with, seemed to make them best friends in the Dunmer’s eyes.

“Got any jobs lined up, anything special?”

“No.” Rama grunted.

“Best hurry up and grab something then, before all the good stuff’s gone. I’ve got a bandit cave needs clearing, _and_ a noble’s daughter to rescue.”

Rama eyed the other woman with a sceptical glare. “You’re doing both at the same time?”

“Why not? Double the danger means double the money.” Jenassa smirked, red eyes glinting. “I _would_ offer one of them to you, if you were struggling for work, _but_ … I just like the money too much.”

The Orc merely huffed irritably. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

“You too, greenskin.” Jenassa shook her head as she sauntered away.

Rama scowled to herself, she could do with doing another job soon. Not that she particularly needed the money, she had earned plenty over the years and she lived too simply to spend it all, but she needed to keep in practice if she wanted to stay at the peak of her game. Still, she needed to find work to do first. She shook her head ruefully at nothing in particular and marched into the general store.

Rama’s eyes strained to adjust to the darkened interior for a moment as she entered, only two individuals present in the shop. The shop keep Belethor was stood behind the counter, conversing with a redheaded woman.

“Are you sure you don’t have any in stock?” The soft voice of the woman asked.

Rama froze for a second. That voice, she recognised it. The woman who’d tended her wound from before. It was nearing two months since that day, yet the Orc remembered it clearly.

“Like I said, no!” The exasperated Breton replied, rubbing his eyes wearily. “No one but you has any use for those things, Ysolda. We simply don’t stock it. Why do you want a Mammoth’s tusk anyway?”

The Nord sighed. “I need it to make good on a trade.”

“Very particular this trade, eh?”

“Could you at least order one for your next shipment, I’m willing to pay-”

“No. Sorry Ysolda, but it’s simply not worth it. Have you ever seen one of those things? You’d need an army to take one down, never mind sawing the damn tusk off! And that’s all without getting your head smashed in by a giant!”

Ysolda sighed wearily. “If you ever change your mind …”

“I’ll let you know.” The Breton muttered not unkindly. “I’ll ask my supplier’s if there’s any chance, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“Alright, thank you, Belethor.” Ysolda murmured, defeated.

She turned to leave and nearly walked straight into Rama. Surprised, the Nord woman looked up at the Orc’s face. Recognition settling in the Nord’s eyes immediately.

“Rama?” The redhead asked with a small, surprised smile.

The Orc warrior was taken aback for a moment, not expecting the merchant to remember her name.

“Ysolda.” Was all she muttered with a slight nod of her head.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?” The redhead didn’t seem put off by the Orc.

Rama idly noticed Belethor keeping a careful eye on the green skinned warrior, perhaps suspecting her for a thief. She merely ignored him.

“Well … you?” Rama had always made it a point to keep the amount of socialising she did to a minimum, for good reason. It was much less complicated that way.

She dimly remembered the last time she had seen the Nord woman. She’d gotten angry about something the merchant had said and stormed out of Ysolda’s house. Rama was very aware of the impression she gave to others, particularly when she was angry, so she was more than a little surprised to find the Nord woman before her acting so civil and not running for the guards.

Rather, her face lit up with a warm smile.

“I’m well, thank you.” Ysolda half chuckled, Rama wasn’t sure why.

The Orc stood there in awkward silence for a few moments more, wondering what she could say to that.

_What am I doing standing here like a fool? This is a waste of time_. Rama chastised herself. She grunted at nothing in particular and made to approach the shop counter. Only Ysolda intercepted her.

“Rama I- I suppose this is a bit of a long shot, but I don’t suppose you’d know of anywhere I could get a Mammoth’s tusk?”

Rama regarded the Nord with a blank look.

“From a Mammoth.”

The redhead appeared stunned for a second before scowling deeply at the Orc. It wasn’t particularly threatening. If anything, it amused the Orc.

“I _meant_, do you know where I could get one that _isn’t_ attached to the Mammoth?” Ysolda clarified tartly.

“No. Like I say, a Mammoth’s your best bet.”

The Nord sighed irritably. “Well, I doubt I’d be able to get one then, I’m not really much of a challenge for a Mammoth am I?”

“No.” Rama gave the Nord’s slight frame a quick once over with her amber gaze. _Definitely not_.

Ysolda’s eyes narrowed slightly again.

“Right, well, thank you, Rama.” The redhead offered, perhaps a little stung or deflated as she made to leave the store. The expression didn’t seem to sit right on the Nord.

The Orc sighed heavily, nearly a full blooded growl really, before turning to catch Ysolda on the threshold.

“I could get one for you.” The offer came from her mouth almost unwillingly.

Ysolda’s eyebrows shot up in surprise of the offer, or maybe it was that the Orc had said more than a couple of sentence to her, Rama couldn’t rightly tell.

“Really? I couldn’t ask you to risk yourself for such a thing.”

“You could hire me.” The warrior absently cracked her knuckles, almost as if to highlight her powerful form.

Ysolda regarded the Orc silently for a few moments, lips slightly parted. Then she chuckled quietly and rubbed at her eyes with a smile.

“I … wouldn’t know how much I should pay you for such a task.” The redhead began slowly.

Now it was Rama’s turn to regard the Nord for a few moments. “We can sort that out after.”

“You’d risk your life for no certain reward?” Ysolda’s expression was incredulous.

Rama merely shrugged.

Ysolda sighed.

“I should forbid you from even considering it.” The redhead began with a shake of her head. “But I doubt you’d take kindly to that. I can’t ask you to do this, but if you did, I would be very grateful.” She finished with that warm smile of hers.

The green skinned warrior simply inclined her head, the hint of a smirk crossing her lips. Ysolda made to leave the store, turning her head to give the Orc one last smile before the door shut.

“Hey.” The slow drawl from Belethor drew Rama’s gaze away from the door. “Are you going to buy anything or are you just here to make your own business?”

xxx

When Rama left the ancient walls of Whiterun, she left with a gnawing feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake. Jenassa had laughed for a solid minute when she heard what Rama was aiming to do, then she’d asked to be put into the Orc’s will. Rama had never fought a Mammoth before, let alone the Giants that often kept them as cattle. She didn’t have to wrestle with one of them to tell just how strong they were. One solid hit from a Giant’s club and she’d be sent flying for sure. Still, she said that she would retrieve a tusk and she was determined to keep to her word. Not that she’d promised the Nord woman anything, but still, her pride and reputation as a mercenary was at stake.

She made her way across the jagged landscape off the Hold, knowing the rough location of a Giant’s camp was not too far out of her way. She soon found her target. A primitive, oversized camp lay out on the wild plains. Though it was far from concealed, Rama reckoned the Giants who made it didn’t have to worry about thieves and raiders. She eyed a couple of the slow, lumbering creatures ambling about, heavy clubs slung over their shoulders. As expected, a small herd of mammoths were grazing nearby. Were it not for the enormous size of both giant and mammoth, the scene would look like a few simple farm hands and their cattle.

The Orc cautiously approached the camp from afar. She kept herself low. Rama had no idea just how good a giant’s sight was, but she wasn’t about to make it any easier for them than she had to. She came upon a craggy outcrop that overlooked a section of the camp. Crawling on all fours – her iron armour scratching irritably on the stone – she manoeuvred herself to observe and form some sort of plan. An all-out assault was out of the question. She’d probably die before her weapon could taste blood. No, she’d have to be smarter than that. The heavy metal clad warrior she was, stealth was not her primary skill, but it would have to do. She just needed to wait for an opening.

The rustle of movement out of the corner of her eye snapped her attention immediately. She spied a small group of humans and elves crouched near the edges of the camp below her, whispering to each other in hushed tones. Their armour was plain and scrappy. Raiders and bandits most likely.

Rama narrowed her gaze at them and kept her form low, pressed into the stone. No simple bandit clan would move on a giant’s camp without good cause. Could they be here for the same thing she was? If so, she doubted they’d all be able to sneak into the camp at once.

The strangers moved forward, deeper into the camp. Unaware of the Orc watching them, their eyes pinned to the giants. For their part, the great mammoth herders were still completely ignorant of their trespassers.

Then in an instant, the peaceful night was shattered.

As one, the bandits jumped up and ran in, whooping and hollering like madmen. The giants swung around to the noise, almost stumbling over the tiny creatures that were running about their feet and causing such a ruckus. The nearby mammoths, sensing a disturbance, picked their heads up. Rama merely stared on, one eyebrow raised.

The bandits’ ‘attack’ had something of an effect, the giants were clearly too shocked to immediately crush them all in a few well-placed strikes of the club. The bandits swept past the giants and made their way over towards the mammoths. The great, tusked beasts reared back in alarm. The humans and elves set into them with sword, spear and arrow.

Finally the giants reacted. They strode over to the bandits in heavy strides that set the ground trembling. In one swing, two of the bandits went flying. Their screaming forms were silenced as they were dashed upon the rocks a good distance away.

A moaning cry followed. Rama snapped her head around to see one mammoth fall. The bandits around the poor beast cheered before setting to work on the tusks. Half of them turned back to the giants, dancing around them quickly to keep from being squished or clubbed to death. Even so, another three met a grisly end in short order.

“We got ‘em, let’s go!” A shout from one of the men near the mammoth. His friends were struggling to carry four ivory tusks in their arms.

Rama smirked darkly. Now was the time to move in. She crept over the lip of the outcrop and slid herself down the rocks. The resulting spray of dust and pebbles was unnoticed by the battle still going on. The Orc warrior drew her great axe and set off at a trot, her approach masked well by the jubilant cries of the bandits and the outraged groans of the giants.

The first bandit she reached never even heard the swing that took his head.

xxx

Rama strode back through the gates of Whiterun with her prize hefted on one shoulder and nary a scratch on her. How things had managed to work out so well for her, she couldn’t rightly say. The same could not be said for the bandits who’d done all the hard work for her. Between the ferocious Orc and the vengeful giants, the bandits had been cut down and smashed to pieces. Other than the sole mammoth that had been brought down, the giants camp had been left relatively unscathed. Rama had managed to escape the wrath of the giants by leaving the last few men to face the clubs as she fled with the prized tusks.

She received a few strange looks as she made her way towards the market, stranger than normal that is, but she ignored it all. She’d had a very successful day. If only all quests could be as fruitful.

Veering off from the market, she marched right up to the merchant Ysolda’s small abode. She never imagined that she’d ever be back before this doorway again. She rapped on the door twice. After a few moments, the door opened revealing the redheaded Nord.

“R- Rama?” Ysolda was taken aback, surprised to see the Orc again so soon.

Rama jostled the tusk on her shoulder with something of a shrug.

“Your tusk.”

“I- How?”

“Found a Mammoth.”

“Just like that?” A sceptical raised eyebrow.

“Just like that.”

The Nord snickered with a shake of her head. “You are quite something, Rama. What do I owe you?”

The Orc turned her gaze to regard the tusk for a long moment. She lifted it off her shoulder and dropped it in Ysolda’s arms. The Nord nearly dropped it.

“Consider it a gift.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly. Not after everything you’ve already done for me-”

“Consider it thanks, for healing me then.” Rama huffed.

“That was after you saved my life before, remember?”

The Orc half sighed, half grunted irritably. “You … you said you’d heal me when I needed.”

“Does that mean you’ll come to me if you need help?” A warm, yet disbelieving smile.

Rama glared at the Nord for a long moment.

“Yes.” She relented.

Ysolda chuckled. “Alright then. I accept your gift. Thank you, Rama.” She stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to the Orc’s cheek.

Rama regarded the Nord with a slight scowl for a long moment before huffing and turning away.

“Oh, Rama!” Ysolda called after the Orc. The warrior dutifully turned back. “Would you come back this evening, please?”

“What for?”

“I’d like to cook you dinner, if you’d like.”

Rama half sighed, half groaned. She didn’t need any special effort being made for her. A simple meal in a simple tavern on the side of a simple road was all she needed.

“Fine.” She growled, immediately cursing herself a fool for doing so.

Ysolda smiled wide in return. Rama turned to leave with a shake of her head. The merchant’s gaze lingered fondly on Rama for a few moments before she went back inside. She never saw the Orc’s burning cheeks.

xxx

Knives and forks set down either side of the plates with a quiet chink. The slow flickering of candles cast the room in a warm glow. The soft brush of the wind from the outside gave the odd creak and moan of old timbers.

Ysolda smiled warmly at her dining table. Though her home was modest and a far cry from the Blue Palace, she was rather pleased of her presentation. She couldn’t wait to get her own store and decorate it for her very first customers. She could just see it, they’d walk in over the threshold, a beautiful display would greet them. Gorgeous wild flowers from the mountains sitting in antique vases. A handmade rug would lay there to welcome them. She’d be stood behind the counter in a new dress, smiling wide and eager to meet her new customers.

A sudden rap on the door jostled the Nord from her daydream.

“Yes?” Ysolda called out.

“I’m here.” A familiar gruff voice replied through the wood.

“Just a moment please.”

Ysolda gave herself three moments to have a glance over her home. Happy that nothing was out of place, she went and opened the door. As expected, Rama stood on the other side, her arms folded with an irritable expression. She turned to the Nord.

“I’m here.” The warrior muttered again.

“So you are.” The merchant smiled. “Please, come in, come in!”

The Orc obeyed, she needed to bow her head slightly to get through the doorway.

“Can I take your … axe?” Ysolda murmured lamely, realising the Orc had no coat, hat or cloak to protect her from the weather. The green skinned woman was clad only in her armour as usual. While it wasn’t snowing outside, it was still cold enough to warrant an extra layer or two by Ysolda’s reckoning.

The Orc gave the Nord a long appraising look, probably assessing the merchant’s ability to even lift the weapon.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Right. Well, please take a seat. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Rama turned and lifted a seat out from the table with a surprising amount of care. She removed the axe from her back and gently propped it up against the wall out of the way. When she sat down, the wood creaked in protest. Deciding it would be better not to worry about the state of her furnishings, Ysolda went over to the fire to check on her cooking.

A flavoursome mammoth steak was cooking away in the pot. Somehow, a shipment of mammoth meat had found its way to Belethor’s that very day. Ysolda had instantly bought plenty. What better way to repay delivery of a mammoth’s tusk than with mammoth steak. It was more exotic than Ysolda was normally accustomed to, but she’d been brought up to show her very best when hosting guests.

Ysolda served the food carefully, giving Rama a hefty portion of meat. She’d made sure to have plenty spare for seconds, she’d heard about the ravenous appetites of Orcs before. Rama murmured her thanks and set into the meal before the merchant could even invite her to.

Shaking her head with a humoured smile, Ysolda set down at her place and began to eat as well.

Ysolda quickly became aware of the silence that clung to the room, save for the clink of cutlery and the flicker of the fire.

“So … how did you become a … a hunter? An adventurer?”

The Orc looked up from her meal to the Nord, a small line of gravy clung to the corner of her mouth. She gave a slight jerk of her head non-committedly.

“Don’t know really. Just seemed like good money.”

With that the warrior ducked her head again back to her meal.

“But what exactly is it that you do? For a job, I mean?”

The green head came up again. “Anything really. Kill some bandits, hunt some game, whatever pays.”

“Right. Well … as long as it pays well, I guess?”

The Orc merely murmured, which could have been in agreement or a rebuke for all Ysolda knew.

The merchant wasn’t sure what to follow up with after that. It was difficult forming a conversation with someone so … quiet. It was practically uncomfortable at this point. The Orc clearly had no such qualms and once again focussed her attention on her food. Ysolda almost forgot about her own meal as she watched the Orc with a curious eye. Rama was just eating away quite happily, oblivious to the Nord’s tension. Well, as happily as the Orc seemed to do anything.

“You don’t … You don’t spend much time around other people, do you, Rama?”

The Orc in question looked up once more. There were now two gravy stains, one either side of her mouth. Still chewing, she shook her head with a muffled grunt.

Ysolda smiled. “That’s ok. You’re just not like anyone else I’ve met is all. You’re very quiet, most people round here can’t stop talking about themselves. It’s … refreshing.”

Rama regarded Ysolda with a long look over her chewing. When she finally swallowed, she asked: “What is it you … do?”

The question was clumsy, but Ysolda appreciated the effort all the same.

“I’m a trader, a merchant. Or at least, I hope to become one someday.”

“You’re not now?”

_Two questions in a row, that’s surely a record!_

“I don’t have my own store or anything. I mostly just buy and sell odds and ends, mostly with the Khajiit caravans that pass by the city. I’m hoping to raise enough money to one day buy a store of my own, maybe the Bannered Mare even.”

“I could help.”

To say the Nord was taken aback would be an understatement.

“Really? How?”

Rama reached down to her side and brought a coin pouch. A sizeable coin pouch. She hefted it onto the table where it landed with a heavy clatter of what Ysolda could only assume was a lot of money. _That wouldn’t be enough to by the Mare, but with the coin I already have saved …_

“I could give you the money to buy it.”

“Rama, I- thank you, but I can’t accept this.”

“Why not? I’ve no need for it all.”

Ysolda rubbed at her eyes in irritation. “I appreciate the gesture Rama, really, but I couldn’t possibly-”

“Why? You need it more than I-”

“Because I haven’t earned it!” The Nord snapped.

The Orc’s eyes went wide at the sudden outburst.

“I refuse to- to achieve my dreams using money that is not mine by right! That I haven’t earned! What would my ma and da think if I walked into the Bannered Mare and bought her with money I don’t own?”

Rama’s gaze had softened from the alarmed surprise now, looking more embarrassed. Unless Ysolda was mistaken, there was also a measure of respect there.

“I know you’re trying to help Rama and thank you for that.” The merchant levelled a fork at the Orc with a glare. “But I’m going to have to ask you to remove that bag from the table, put it back in your pack, or you won’t get any desert!”

Rama held the Nord’s gaze for a long moment, a hint of a smirk about her tusks. She reached over and picked up the coin purse, dutifully tucking it away.

“I’m sorry.” The Orc seemed genuinely regretful in spite of the smile that tugged at her lips.

“Well, let’s say no more about it then, shall we?” Ysolda brought her own smile back to the fore. “Now, would you care for some desert?”

“I’d love some.”

Ysolda paused for a moment. ‘_I’d love some_’? That seemed much more enthusiastic, somehow, for only three words anyway. Brushing the thought aside, she cleared the main dishes away and brought out an apple pie.

“Where are your parents?” The sudden question from the Orc almost made the Nord spill the slice of pie she’d been dishing up onto the floor.

“They … they passed away some years ago now.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no. It’s fine. It was a while ago now, anyway.”

Both women were silent for a few long moments.

“What were they like?” Rama asked gently.

A watery smile tugged at Ysolda’s face as she spoke. “They, uh, they were lovely. All they ever wanted was for me to be happy. I remember telling them that I wanted to be a trader, the best merchant in all of Skyrim. They were so supportive of that.”

“They sound like good people.”

“The best.” Ysolda found herself wiping moisture from her eyes. She silently cursed herself. She never normally got so emotional about this.

A white napkin attached to a green hand suddenly entered her vision.

“Here.” Rama offered, her expression a curious mixture of concern and discomfort.

“I- thank you. Whatever must you think of me?”

“… I think you’re strong.”

The Nord paused in wiping her eyes to stare at the Orc.

“Strong?” Her question came out as something between a croak and a cry.

“Yes.” Rama’s face was utterly serious now.

“What in all Tamriel gives you that idea?” Ysolda half laughed.

“You’re still trying to achieve your dreams even without your family to support you. You defended yourself against killers that day we first met, you didn’t try to cower or hide. You treat me with kindness and give me your food when you have no reason to.” She shrugged a little awkwardly as if she were trying to explain the day-night cycle to a dullard. “You are strong.”

“I … I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me.”

The Orc cocked her head to the side with a confused look. “What?”

“Sorry, I- Wait, how is treating you with kindness supposed to be strong?”

“I’m not a knight in shining armour.” Rama chuckled ruefully. “I’m a monster. People run from me.”

“No, you’re not! Don’t say such things!”

“It’s true. People fear me.” Rama stated without emotion. “But not you.”

“Of course not! How could I?”

“Look at me, Ysolda. What do you see?” Rama spread her arms out wide.

Ysolda narrowed her gaze as she took the Orc in. There was the unparalleled muscular strength of her body. The myriad of scars that seemed to cover most of her dark green skin. The two short tusks that sprung out of her mouth and distorted her expressions, making everything a grimace. The slight wrinkle to her nose that made it look squashed. The short, black ponytail that was shaved close at the sides, a wild, barbaric look. Even the slight glare the Orc was giving the Nord, as if daring her to say something spiteful.

Ysolda smiled.

“I see my hero, my saviour and my friend.”

Rama lowered her arms, her face stunned.

“And I see you still haven’t finished your desert yet!” Ysolda brandished her spoon at the Orc. She wore a scowl that quickly let slip the smirk she was hiding.

The Orc laughed. “Sorry. It really is delicious though.”

“Glad to hear it. There are seconds, if you want some more.”

Their conversation was freer flowing after that, more natural. Ysolda smiled to herself as Rama regaled her with tales of daring do she’d accomplished some years before. Then she would haltingly ask a question of the redhead in return. The merchant felt that she’d finally broken through a barrier.

They talked for so long that Rama did end up having seconds of the desert, and thirds.


	3. A City on Fire

**A City on Fire**

War had well and truly come to Whiterun.

People ran through the streets as guards barked orders and marched to their posts. The shouts of the soldiers intermingled with the fearful cry of the civilians in the air. Beyond all that, the faint marching of troops outside the ancient walls could be heard as the invaders prepared their assault. It was a general panic.

Rama sat on the steps leading away from the market, calmly sharpening her axe head with a whetstone as everyone went frantic around her. This wasn’t her first battle and unless she was careless, it wouldn’t be her last. She gazed about the marketplace with narrowed eyes, she wasn’t certain that this was a battle the city could win. More to the point, she wasn’t sure just why she was still there in the besieged city.

She owed no allegiance to Whiterun. She had no stake in this city. If she got up now she could sneak over the walls and leave, everyone was in such a rush that no one would even notice. Yet she stayed seated, sharpening her axe. The Orc growled loudly to herself more than anything, making a nervous old couple jump in fear as they made to rush up past her to the relative safety of the Wind District. Rama ignored them, continuing to scowl at her predicament.

“Damn it, you’re still here too?”

Rama registered the familiar voice with merely the slightest twitch of her head and continued in her work.

Jenassa sighed and sat down beside the Orc on the stairs, blocking half the way for the terrified civilians, though none of them dared provoke the sell swords.

“I’d have thought you’d have run a mile by now.” The Dunmer muttered with a shake of her head.

“Why haven’t you?”

“Oh, you know, beautiful coin as always.”

“As always.” Rama said without heat.

“That arse Nazeem’s paying me a hefty sum to protect him in case things go South. Which, of course they will. Normally, I wouldn’t risk it, especially for a rat like him, but dammit if I don’t love the sound of coin.”

“Hmm hmm.” Rama murmured non-committedly.

“Who’s paying you to keep their worthless hides safe, then?”

“No one.”

“What? Are you fighting for the good of the city now? For the empire even?” Jenassa chuckled, disbelieving.

“Who says I’m fighting anything?” The Orc demanded with a glare. A few children who were passing them at the time yelped in alarm at the sudden outburst and scurried away.

Jenassa merely smirked at her companion. “You sharpening that axe just for show then?”

Rama glowered at the Dunmer for a long moment before turning her gaze away.

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

The dark elf sighed. “Have it your way. Whatever you do, just don’t get yourself killed. There are precious few good mercs in the business, even fewer I happen to get along with.”

With that, Jenassa got up, clapped the Orc on the shoulder and walked off casually as the city descended into chaos around her.

A guardsman suddenly ran down the stairs past Rama, nearly clipping the Orc with his knee. He turned to mutter a quick apology then did a double take.

“Hey you! You can fight can’t you?” The guard demanded urgently.

Rama didn’t answer. She merely continued to sharpen her axe with a raised brow.

“We need every able bodied hand to the front gate. Quickly, please!” The man was frantic.

For a long moment, Rama was torn. She was sorely tempted to just shake her head and turn to find a way out of this forsaken city. It would certainly be much easier. Yet as she seriously considered doing that, red hair and blue eyes entered her mind.

The Orc stood, immediately towering over the young guard. She nodded wordlessly to the man and sauntered over towards the front gate where the defenders were massing to make their stand.

xxx

The shouts of the courageous were challenged only by the cries of the dying.

Rama sliced through her latest attacker with clinical precision. The Stormcloaks surged forward still, one after another meeting their end at Rama’s blade. Many had already died this day, so many lay slain in the mud below them. The stench of blood and death filled the air. Much of it had been dealt at the hands of the Orc. Crimson blood ran freely and blended with thick mud in a horrid concoction of war.

As well as Rama was doing, the same could not be said for her allies. More than once she’d had to swing her blade across to help the man or woman beside her. She growled fiercely when they attempted to thank her, better save such trivialities for if they survive.

All in all it looked an even thing from the front line of battle. The Stormcloaks came upon the Imperials and Whiterun guards like a crashing wave. The defenders held their ground, but barely.

Rama put more effort and urgency into her attacks. If she could push Stormcloak lines through she could perhaps drive them back, at the very least earn the defenders a little reprieve. The Orc grunted with the effort of throwing one blue clad Nord off her axe head before plunging it into another. The shouts of those at her back responded. “Push! Push!” An almighty groan as the frontline charged forth to match the Orc.

They smashed into the onslaught of blue and turned them red. The screams of the dead and dying almost drowned out the clatter of weapons and shields and the whizzing of arrows overhead. Rama vaguely felt the sharp pang as an arrow sunk into her shoulder from above, but she paid it no mind. The Orc could have been covered in enough wounds to kill a normal man and still she would have barely noticed.

The defender’s surge stalled as they met the thick belly of the attacker’s counter. There was barely enough room for the men and women on the front to even breathe in the crush. Rama couldn’t make use of the full reach of her axe, she made do with short, jagged movements that clubbed and battered the enemy into submission.

Just when the hell seemed to be infinite, the pressure lifted as the attackers fell back at the call of their own horns. The defenders cried out in taunt and relief, some few made to chase the fleeing attackers down as the City’s commanders shouted for restraint. The battle was still far from over.

A deep horn blast resonated over the cacophony of war. “Pull back! They’re in the City! Pull back!”

A tense stillness held the air for the moment at the news, and then a panicked rush as the winded defenders surged back towards the City gates. Many of the soldiers called out to each other in confusion. How could the City be breached? Rama seemed the only one of the whole mass who seemed to have kept her nerve. She marched back up the ancient flagstones, glancing over her shoulder to keep an eye on the enemy. They weren’t immediately giving chase, likely regrouping for the next push. The Orc doubted they would give up on the gate entirely even if they had forced their way in elsewhere.

Rama made it into the City just as the great doors were being forced shut. The ancient timbers protesting against the frantic guards with a screeching groan. A few dozen or more men were already assembling makeshift barricades to bar the gates and making hasty preparations to hold it against the besiegers. Everywhere the Orc looked she saw the frantic running of scared men. Leaders barked out orders in the attempt to regain order.

An earthy whistle soon followed by a grand blast swallowed everyone’s attention. A boulder launched by the Stormcloaks had nearly completely levelled one of the houses on the main street. More panicked shouts greeted Rama’s ears, fearing what the Stormcloaks would do to them all when they finally broke through their defences. She made to shut them out, focussing her mind in the now. The Orc set her jaw and forced her way through the throng. The City wouldn’t hold for much longer like this. She should get out while she still could. She never should have stayed to help a fruitless defence in the first place.

The clatter of weapons drew her attention to the right, a host of guards and imperial soldiers were massing around a large breach in the outer wall. A great wave of blue clad Stormcloaks pushed and prodded their way into the City.

Rama needed to run, now. She knew a hopeless cause when she saw one. There would be no victory here. Even now the Stormcloaks were overwhelming the defenders and breaking their way into the city. Soldiers in blue broke past the melee and charged into the City proper.

Rama knew she needed to find a way to vault over the walls, and soon.

Some of the Stormcloaks went straight for the shops and houses along the district. Making to cut people down in the streets and tear down the buildings.

One went for Ysolda’s home.

Something snapped in the Orc, something primal. Rama drew her axe free and cried out in frustrated fury as she charged back into the fight.

xxx

Ysolda panted quickly as she ran about her small home. She knew she had more healing supplies somewhere. If she was to help the healers at the temple then she couldn’t very well do without them. She toppled boxes and crates over in her haste. Well aware that time was not on her side. The ominous noises of war crept upon the house as she ran about in a flurry, urging her to move. She didn’t want to think of what was happening outside the walls. She only hoped that they would all live to see another day.

Then, a muffled noise came that Ysolda heard ever so clearly. “Pull back! They’re in the City! Pull Back!”

All warmth seemed to leave the Nord in an instant. How could they have broken through already? The noises seemed so far off. She refocussed her mind on the task at hand, she had to be quick. She only hoped that her house wasn’t in the direct line of fire, but the outer walls were only just beyond the mottle and daub of her home, and the City walls were ancient and everyone knew they were practically crumbling already and-

Ysolda forced herself to stop careering down that path and refocussed herself. She just had to find something, anything that could help healing the wounded.

A sudden clatter and the whooping gust of wind as her front door crashed open. The merchant turned, eyes wide, to see a blue clad soldier sauntering in with all the care one would give to a pigsty. The Stormcloak spotted Ysolda immediately, she couldn’t see his face under that dark metal helmet, but she didn’t need to.

The soldier casually slammed the door shut again, before hauling an adjacent bookshelf to clatter down in front of it, cutting off any escape. He slowly stalked towards the merchant.

Ysolda scrambled back, meeting a wall far too quickly and willing her panting to slow. Keeping her eyes fixed on the Stormcloak, she blindly grasped about for something behind her, anything that might help her. Her fingers found something and she brought up a kitchen knife. Ysolda fought the urge to cry, that wouldn’t do much good against the soldier’s sword.

The Stormcloak chuckled at her expense, raising his sword lazily in a mocking salute before their “duel”.

An explosion of noise and splinters broke through the tension as Ysolda’s front door gave way. The bookshelf that had been thrown in front of it might as well as have been a thin sheet of parchment. The merchant’s eyes bloomed wide as saucers. The Stormcloak soldier ducked his head underarm to cover himself from the blast. Turning to the gaping hole where a door once stood, he took a couple of steps back.

Stood on the threshold was a giant of a sight, the hulking green figure of Rama, weapon and teeth bared, breathing deep and steady.

The Orc turned her gaze first to the Stormcloak, then swiftly to Ysolda. Rama’s eye’s seemed to widen just a fraction before they switched back to the soldier, darkening to pure bloodlust.

More than a growl, more than a shout, what noise Rama let loose was pure, primal anger vocalised. The axe came quick in a wide arc, slicing through a wooden beam like a knife through hot butter before cutting into the Stormcloak.

The soldier barely had chance to let out a sound before the life was stripped from his body. A fountain of blood burst from the gaping axe wound. His body slammed against the wall and slumped into a bloodied heap, falling still upon the floor.

Ysolda could barely do more than part her lips in shock. The Orc woman, yet again her saviour, spared not a second glance to the fallen soldier and strode right up to Ysolda.

“R- Rama?” The merchant managed to get out somehow.

“Are you hurt? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

Rama’s gaze was narrowed less in fury more in annoyance now.

“Ysolda!” She shook the Nord when she didn’t answer right away.

“No, no. I’m fine. You got here just in time. Thank you!”

The Orc seemed to let out a breath before returning her face to scowl.

“What are doing here? Are you mad?”

“I had to! They need more supplies at the temple. They can’t heal everyone without them!”

“They’ll have to make do!” Rama growled before turning, pulling the merchant’s arm as she went.

“Wait! I still need-”

“You need to move, now!” Rama barked, fangs bared. “The City’s overrun. You stay, you die.”

Ysolda’s eyes were wide and fearful under the Orc’s forceful gaze, but she nodded numbly and stopped resisting as Rama pulled her out of the house. Stepping out into the open, Ysolda gasped sharply as the sounds of battle enveloped her, she really had no idea the threat was so close. Panting heavily, she fought the urge to panic. Bodies lay still in the streets, their life blood painting the cobblestones a rich crimson.

“Hey!” Rama snarled, Ysolda’s gaze snapped back to the Orc. “Stay with me.”

Without waiting for a reply she turned and ran, dragging the Nord in her wake. Ysolda struggled just to keep her feet at the lightening pace.

An attacker burst out from around a wall, shouting a battle cry that the God’s never heard. Rama swung her axe upwards with her right hand alone, yet still the blow was forceful enough to slice the man’s arm and head clean off. A shower of blood hit the Orc but she paid it no mind, set in her task of getting higher into the City. More soldiers came, left, right and centre. Rama swore and pulled Ysolda back roughly. The Nord yelped as she suddenly jerked back. The Orc paid her no mind and stood in front of her.

“Stay behind me!” She growled as the first attack came. She blocked it with ease and swung through to sever a leg. The man went down howling. The next one came in fast, a hammer’s blow from above. Rama guided the heavy handed strike to the side, it hit the stone floor with a spine tingling crunch, the flagstones bending and breaking. She jabbed the pommel of her axe into the attacker’s throat and followed through with a sideways arc. His head didn’t even reach the floor before she was on to the last.

The final attacker regarded the Orc wearily, gripping his sword and shield tentatively. Rama felt the presence of the ongoing struggle all around her. Ysolda was still at her back, shaky hand was touching the Orc’s back. Rama needed to end this quickly, before any more arrived.

She roared, channelling her innate strength. Her peripheral vision shuddered and faded away into red. Her hearing sharpened unnaturally, the cacophony of battle around her was deafening, yet above it all she heard the frightened panting of Ysolda at her back. All she saw was the foe ahead of her, blocking her path, in her way. Rama scowled with all the hatred of the daedra and hefted her axe high. The stormcloak’s eyes widened, large as saucers. The Orc brought her weapon down, shattering his barely raised shield into splinters with one blow.

Snarling with primal rage, she swiped at the soldier with the side of her blade. He was thrown sideways, crashing into one of the merchant stands and falling still amidst broken wood and tattered cloth.

Rama turned, her impossibly fierce eyes meeting Ysolda’s. The Nord was cowering.

Ysolda was afraid, afraid of her.

The Orc narrowed her gaze and focussed on her breathing, trying to reign in her fearsome anger. Her blood continued to pump a beautiful song of war in her ears.

“Go.” She growled. The sound of her own voice in her ears was more animal than man or mer. “Get higher into the city.”

Ysolda nodded numbly before she scrambled up the stairs, not daring to take her eyes off the Orc.

Rama urged her off with a grunt and turned to face the oncoming fray. This would be her line. She wouldn’t let a single one of the bastards get past her here.

“Rama!”

Ysolda’s call from behind stopped the Orc in her tracks.

“Don’t die! Come back to me!” Despite her fear, the Nord smiled, warm and true.

The warrior stared at the merchant for a long moment, before nodding once and beckoning her onwards. Ysolda’s gaze lingered on the Orc for a long moment before she turned to flee to the upper reaches of the city.

Rama snapped her attention to the hollering of four more warriors charging her way. Through her blood smeared vision, she could clearly see they wore their allegiance blue. She chortled with a primal, vicious grin. The Orc gripped the axe in her hands firm. The pulsing song of blood in her ears was almost deafening. She would fight, she would fight and she would win. Anything to see that smile again.

Rama let loose a cry even the gods would hear as she charged.

xxx

Rama inhaled deeply, the gentle shimmering of light and shadow played over her face as she gazed up through the pink leaves of the Gildergreen. The sky beyond was as peaceful a blue as she’d ever seen. It was so calm, so serene. The clamour of battle had long since faded. Yet people still ran about frantically, seeing that supplies were apportioned, putting out fires, making repairs. There was much work to be done now that the battle was won.

Not for the Orc though. She lay still. The clamour for war had long since faded from her blood. Her body ached all over, dozens of cuts and stab wounds littered her body. Yet it was a good ache, one she relished. It was an ache that meant she was still alive.

She idly heard the faint whispers of passers-by comment on her current state as she lay there, across a bench underneath the Gildergreen, covered in blood. Most of the gore wasn’t hers though. She’d have wagered that she must have looked quite the sight. Perhaps they thought she was already dead, but no one was willing to poke the fearsome looking Orc in order to find out.

“Well, well, well. Still alive, are we?” Jenassa’s voice cut through the relative quiet.

_Almost no one anyway._

“No. Go away.” Rama muttered irritably, though she made no effort to get rid of the Dunmer. She eyed Jenassa as she approached and noted that the mercenary barely had a scratch on her. The upper reaches of the city had clearly been spared the worst of the assault.

“Sorry to distract you from your dying an’ all.” Jenassa chuckled. “Just wanted to come see the ‘Hero of Whiterun’ for myself, you’ve done a hell of a job from what I’ve heard.”

Rama said nothing. She merely kept her eyes closed.

“Killed scores of them, according the soldiers at least. You’ve become a hero to them and- ah, I’ll leave you to it. She’s cute by the way.”

Rama opened her eyes to glare a question at the Dunmer. Jenassa was walking away with a smirk and a wink at the Orc. Shaking her head, Rama settled back down on the bench and gazed up into the sky in solitude.

Red hair and a warm smile suddenly edged into view. The Orc turned her gaze to meet Ysolda’s.

“Hello.” Rama smiled.

“Hello.” Ysolda smiled back. “Who’s your friend?”

“Another sell sword, bounty hunter, mercenary, whatever you want to call us.”

Ysolda chuckled. “And here I thought you had no friends. Unless … she’s more than that?” The look she gave the Orc was a strange one.

Rama fixed the Nord with a narrowed eye. “No. definitely not.” What a strange thing to think. “I’m not _with_ anyone.”

The Nord murmured and ducked her head slightly, biting her lip as if trying to prevent herself laughing. It was another strange expression. Rama didn’t understand it.

Ysolda placed a hand on the Orc’s cheek gently. “Why is it that I always find you in such a mess?”

Rama chuckled. She reached up to place her hand over the Nord’s. “Are _you_ hurt?”

The merchant regarded the warrior incredulously, “Am I- Have you seen yourself Rama? How are you- H- How?” Ysolda could barely string her sentence together. She laughed and rubbed at her weary, sleep deprived eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Rama sat up on the bench and beckoned the Nord to sit.

“I’m glad you’re safe.” She murmured, feeling colour fill her green cheeks again.

Ysolda smiled once more, it made something clench in the Orc’s chest.

“Thanks to you, my hero.” She leaned in and pecked Rama on the cheek. The skin burned where the Nords lips touched her. “Now come, let me see to your wounds.”

The Orc growled deep in her throat. “I’m fine, stop fussing.” She turned to scowl off into the distance, picking the ruined husk of a nearby house as the focus of her glare.

“Rama!” Ysolda snapped, her voice stern. “Stop acting all tough! You’re not impressing me, you know.”

The Orc turned a glare at the Nord. Ysolda returned the glare with steel in her eyes. At last the Orc relented and threw an arm out in front of the merchant with a huff.

“What am I going to do with you?” Ysolda murmured to herself as she looked over the Orc’s wounds. “It’s amazing you’re still standing, Rama. You need proper rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.” The Orc grumbled.

“That day will be pretty soon if you keep acting like this.” A delicate hand forcefully pulled Rama’s face around to meet an angry glaring Nord. “I’m not letting you kill yourself. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

The fearsome, powerful Orc found her gaze faltering under the Nord’s scrutiny. She nodded once.

“Good.” The Nord smiled, appeased. “Now come on.” She stood and waited expectantly for the Orc to follow suit.

“What?”

“I can’t very well treat you out here, and you’ll need somewhere to sleep and get some proper rest. My house is still standing, thanks to you.” She turned and made towards the steps to the plains district. “Besides, I haven’t thanked you properly for saving me yet.”

Rama narrowed her eyes at the Nord, uncertain. Then she sighed with a shake of her head before standing and striding after Ysolda to catch up. She didn’t notice the smirk that graced the merchant’s lips.


	4. A Cold Reception

**A Cold Reception**

A familiar snow fell from the heavens, blanketing the cobbled road in a fair layer of white. The cold crunched under the horse’s hooves, muffling its slow trek across Skyrim. Atop the horse’s back, two cloaked figures braced together for some scant warmth. The one at the front held the reigns and cast her gaze roving over the landscape. The Orc, Rama idly played at one of her tusks with her tongue as she kept the pace steady. She couldn’t see much through the snow and it irritated her no end. She could imagine some sort of ambush lying in wait just out of her vision.

A fresh gust of wind pawed at them and the figure behind the Orc shivered and clutched at the warrior closer.

“We’re nearly there.” Rama muttered out over the whistling winds.

The other figure moved her hood back a little to get a look at the Orc, revealing short red hair.

“Nearly at the city or …?” Ysolda asked with a fleeting expression of hope.

The Orc scoffed. “At an inn. We’re not making it to Windhelm today.”

Ysolda sighed and pulled her hood back down to better cover her face. “I’d hoped we could get there by tonight at the very least. Damn snow.”

“I thought you Nords loved the snow?” Rama raised a questioning eyebrow.

A not so fierce glare, “Not when it slows us down like this.”

“We’ll get there tomorrow.” The Orc urged the reluctant horse onwards with the prod of her heel. “If we don’t freeze to death first.”

“Please tell me you’re joking?”

“You haven’t spent much time on the road, have you?”

“Not this far North.” The Nord shivered once more as a fresh gust blasted them. The merchant’s lips were nearly blue.

After an agonising wait, the beleaguered horse finally carried them to safe harbour, a small tavern by the roadside. Rama hadn’t even been able to see it through the snow flurry. She’d just known it was there through experience. The pair disembarked and Ysolda hurried inside while the Orc tied the horse up in the makeshift stable. It was little cover against the cold really, so Rama threw an extra blanket over the poor beast.

She strode up to the tavern, shaking the snow off of her shoulders as she stepped over the threshold. A pleasant wall of warmth hit her as she entered. Ysolda was waiting for her there, teeth still chattering.

“Will you be ok?” Rama furrowed her brow in concern.

“Of course, don’t worry about me.” The merchant reassured with a smile. “Nord, remember.”

Rama smirked and strode up to the bar, the sole other occupant of the tavern. A Nord man, balding and wearing tired looking clothing that frayed freely. He lazily wiped away at a wooden flagon with a greying rag.

“Evening.” He greeted with a stout nod. “What can I do ‘fer yer?”

“One room.” Rama dropped some septims on the counter. “A meal each, and some mead please.”

“Right you are.” The barkeep quickly swiped up the coin and pointed a thumb to a door to the right of the bar. “Room’s yours for the night. Take a seat, I’ll bring you some grub in a minute.”

The Orc nodded her thanks and shepherded the merchant to sit at one of the many vacant tables.

“One room?” Ysolda levelled an amused smirk at the warrior. “There are two of us you know.”

“You want another one?” Rama made to stand immediately.

“No I- One room will be fine, I’m sure we’ll manage.” The merchant quickly pulled the Orc back down, cheeks glowing.

“I think you’re coming down with a fever.” Rama put a green hand to the Nord’s forehead. “You’re hot.”

Ysolda’s expression suddenly became alarmed.

“I- I’m fine, thank you, Rama.” She averted her gaze from the Orc as the barkeep brought their meals.

Rama raised one eyebrow, confused. Then she shrugged it off and tucked into the hot stew. It wasn’t too bad, not the best Rama had ever tasted, but she’d eaten a lot worse along the byways of the land.

As they finished their meals, the door blew open again with a whistle of wind and three figures staggered in with relieved sighs. Rama idly glanced their way and noted that the figures were all clad in Stormcloak blue.

“Hey.” Ysolda’s warm voice drew Rama’s attention once more. “I just wanted to thank you, for coming out this way with me.”

“It’s too dangerous on the roads these days.” The Orc huffed. “Couldn’t let you come alone.”

“I knew you cared really, deep down.” The Nord smirked.

Rama murmured something inaudible in her throat and busied herself with her food and flagon. Ysolda shook her head with a smile and likewise took to her meal.

“This shouldn’t be a regular thing.” Ysolda murmured through bites. “Hopefully.”

Rama levelled a quizzical glance at the Nord.

“This, travelling across the country I mean. It’s not the best way to make a living, I know, but it won’t be forever. When I can scrape the money together for a shop of my own I can plant roots.”

“I don’t mind.” Rama shrugged a shoulder. “It’s all the same to me. Just like my normal work.”

Ysolda chuckled. “I forget, you’re a true adventurer, aren’t you? You never really talk about any of that. You must have some stories.” The redhead’s eyes twinkled hopefully.

“It’s hardly glamourous.” Rama huffed, taking a swig of her mead. “More blood and guts than the bards’ll talk about.”

“Come on, you must have had some adventures worth retelling? Humour me.” Ysolda pouted her lips slightly. “Please?”

Rama sighed heavily.

“Well … there was one time. I was working down in Elsweyr, for some Khajiit lord who wanted a magic diamond. There was this-”

“A magic diamond?” Ysolda raised an elegant eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yes. A magic diamond.” Rama scowled. “Let me finish. Anyway, he wanted it to get one up on his rivals. Noble politic nonsense.” Rama rolled her eyes with disdain. “So, I tracked it down to this ruin, some ancient wizard’s den in the jungle, managed to get it out without much issue. It was as big as my fist. But this lord’s rivals, see, they’d all sent their own sellswords to get it as well.”

“Let me guess, you fought them all off, singlehandedly.” Ysolda bit her lip in a vain attempt to contain her smirk. “Like a dashing hero from legend.”

“Do you want to tell the story?” The Orc growled.

“Sorry, sorry. Please, continue Rama.” Ysolda’s cheeks flared a little and she looked a little sheepish.

Rama narrowed her eyes at the Nord a little before continuing.

“Anyway, I got out of the ruin and was standing off against five of them.”

“Five?”

“Yeah, one pair and three other loners.” Rama smirked at the memory. “We took out the pair first, think they were brothers or something, both dark elves. Then it was just the four of us facing off. I had the diamond in this hand, my axe in the other. They all turned to me next, three on one. So what I did was I-”

“Hey!”

Rama stopped abruptly as she received a stout shove to her shoulder. The warm nostalgia drained from her immediately. She turned to glare at the three Stormcloak’s who had come in earlier.

“You’re not welcome round here.” The front Stormcloak glowered.

“Go back to where you came from, you filthy Orc.” His friend piped up.

Rama slowly, very deliberately stood from her seat. She was barely a few inches taller than all of them but her build was a certainly a lot stronger than any of theirs. Still though, they held their ground. There were three of them, and only one of her after all. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the barkeep was nervously taking his leave through the back door.

“Rama …” Ysolda warned to the side.

“It’s alright.” The Orc purred low to the merchant.

“What are you doing with the likes of this filth?” One Stormcloak moved on Ysolda, jerking his finger at the Orc with a disgusted expression. “You two shacked up or some’ink? Makes you sick, don’ it lads? Come on, we’ll take you back, make you a proper Nord yet.” He made to grab her arm.

“Don’t touch me, pig!” Ysolda pulled away and slapped him.

His mates chuckled, they moved slightly, putting themselves in prime position for the inevitable. Rama kept them all within her vision.

“Why you little!-” He made to hit the merchant, with a fist.

It never landed.

A mighty green hand crunched down on his wrist as he wound it back. The Stormcloak turned his head to see Rama, glaring down at him in barely contained fury.

“Let him go!” One of the other Stormcloaks roared indignant, but neither advanced or made a move. The Orc stared down at all three of them for a long, hard moment.

“Ysolda,” Rama murmured, her voice deceptively quiet, not taking her eyes away from the interlopers on their peaceful meal, “Go to our room. Lock the door.”

The merchant opened her mouth as if to protest, then merely nodded and hurried along as commanded. None of the Stormcloaks moved to intercept her. Two of them cracked their knuckles and necks in anticipation. The one Rama had in her grasp swallowed thickly, his eyes darting between her and his friends, clearly regretting his decision and wanting to back out now. Rama waited patiently until she saw Ysolda close the door out of the corner of her eye.

Once she heard the door click shut, she squeezed, hard.

The Stormcloak screamed in pain as his wrist was crushed. The other two threw themselves forward with their fists. Rama managed to dodge one cleanly. The other fist connected and drew blood from her nose. She levelled an annoyed look at the one who had managed to hit her and snorted the blood from her nose to splatter on the floor. Then, she threw the still screaming Stormcloak by the ruined hand into the others. They all collapsed into a heap on the floor. The two with both hands working quickly got back up and made to charge at her again.

Rama braced herself as one made to tackle her to the ground. She took the blow and merely skidded back a few inches. Chuckling she brought both her fists down on his back with force. He groaned as he fell to the dirty wooden floor, stirring awkwardly.

The other one picked up a chair and threw it. It smashed over the arm she raised to protect herself, shattering into kindling. She aimed a kick at his side and he barely dodged the brunt of it as he ambled to the side, the blow merely grazing him. The Orc charged with a roar and tackled the Stormcloak, smashing him into the wall behind. He slumped to the floor dazed.

Before she could do anything else, the first Nord leapt on her back. He clawed at her face like an animal. She struggled to throw him off, stumbling into the furniture and dangerously close to the fire in the centre of the room. His fingers scratched at her face, reaching for her eyes. She angled her face up and bit into his hand, one of her tusks going straight through to the bone. He cried out in pain and his grip loosened. She reached up and threw him off, over her head. He landed near his compatriot with a crash, the pair of them unconscious.

Rama made noises of disgust as she spat blood and what she hoped were scraps of the man’s glove out of her mouth.

“Bitch!”

Rama’s attention snapped back to the third man, the one with the broken wrist. He cradled his crippled hand awkwardly by his chest. In his good hand, a smoking poker from the fire, it’s tip near white hot.

The Orc narrowed her eyes dangerously. She crouched slightly, waiting for the Stormcloak to make the first move. He didn’t disappoint her. He charged wildly, raising the poker high like a great sword. It was almost too simple. She grasped the poker wielding hand and used his momentum to throw him past her. The burning metal skipped across the floor to a halt as he crashed into a table at the far end of the room.

Rama paced up to the man slowly. She was barely even panting from her efforts. She reached down and picked up the poker, its tip still hot enough to start a fire on the dry, dusty planks. He groaned as he tried to stagger away, muttering rabid curses at her, her parents and everything else she held dear. The Orc shook her head. What a pathetic, insignificant, little man. The world would be better off without the likes of him.

She reached down and hefted him up, the scorching tip of the poker dangling perilously close to his head. Rama dragged the Stormcloak to the fire pit in the centre of the room. She dropped the poker back in the fire and shoved him hard against the stones around the burning logs, forcing his head into the blistering heat. She didn’t say a word, the Orc merely glared at him in disgust as she pushed him closer and closer towards the flames. His skin quickly started blistering angrily and he cried out in pain.

“Rama, stop!”

The alarmed shout forced Rama’s gaze to fly up, she found Ysolda standing there, eyes wide in alarm.

Rama looked back down at the man. Now she took in the Stormcloak’s expression.

He was terrified. Where once was an arrogant, cocky swagger, there was now a whimpering, snotty mess. It was pathetic.

She growled as she released her vice like grip and let him scamper away. He shot for the door as soon as he was free and didn’t even look back to check on his friends.

Rama sighed as she stood and took in the state of the tavern, it was a mess. Much of the scant furniture was smashed. Food and crockery littered the floor. Deep scratches lay in the wooden floorboards where tables and chairs had been dragged through with force. Even one of the beams that held the roof up had taken a whack and looked weakened. The other two Stormcloak soldiers were still out cold.

“What were you thinking, Rama?” Ysolda snapped, incredulous.

“What?” Rama growled back, expression incredulous. Why in all of Tamriel was Ysolda upset with her?

“You’d already won! You didn’t need to- to- You almost killed him!”

“So what!” Rama shouted, angry. “They were going to hurt you, Ysolda! They weren’t going to sit you down for a flagon of ale and chat about the state of the Empire!”

“I know that! Rama, you-“ Ysolda sighed heavily as she gathered herself. “I’m grateful, Rama, really, but look around you!“

With a snarl of a sigh, Rama once more looked around the destroyed tavern.

“Was all _this_ really necessary?”

“Ask your _friends_ here.” Rama punctuated the word with a sharp kick to one of the fallen Stormcloaks. The man didn’t stir.

“Stop it! Enough! You keep doing this, you can’t always protect me, Rama.” Ysolda shook her head and marched out of the tavern, both hands raised as if to say ‘I can’t talk to you right now’.

Rama grunted in exasperation and kicked at a fallen chair in frustration. It tumbled over itself into a table. Unable to leave things like that, she followed the Nord out into the snow. The blizzard had died to a gently flurry now. The merchant was pacing back and forth through the pristine white that covered the land.

“So I should have just let them take you?” The Orc demanded, grabbing the Nord’s attention once more.

“You didn’t have to smash up the whole tavern to stop them! That’s someone’s livelihood back there! Now, it’s a complete mess!”

Rama grunted deep in her throat but said nothing.

“You nearly killed a man, Rama.” Ysolda rubbed at her eyes with both hands.

“I’ve killed before, Ysolda. Many times. Remember how we met?” Rama muttered darkly.

“I know that!” The redhead snapped. “But- But this was different.”

“How? Why?” The Orc demanded, fangs bared.

“Because it was cruel! You had his head in the fire, Rama, he was going to burn to death!”

Rama shook off her concern with a shake of her head. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“You could have fooled me.” The merchant folded her arms with a scowl.

“Why do you care anyway? You think they deserve to live? You saw what they did to Whiterun!”

“But you’re better than that, Rama!” Ysolda stormed up to the Orc, her expression softening a fraction. “You’re better than them. I know you are.” – Then, the anger and fire returned – “And how do you know they were at Whiterun? They could have been anyone!”

“I don’t, but they-”

”And since when did you care about Whiterun?” Ysolda scoffed with a shake of her head. “Since when did you care about anything, anything other than fighting, or drinking. Getting yourself hurt or-”

“I care about you!” Rama shouted.

Ysolda’s eyes immediately widened, she almost took a step back.

The Orc half grunted, half sighed and turned to pace away, kicking up the snow irritably as she went. She stood at the edge of a frozen pool and scowled up at the sky, ignoring the snow that fell into her face. How did this evening go so wrong? It was supposed to be a nice, quiet trip out together, nothing adventurous, nothing dangerous. No interlopers, just the two of them.

“Rama?” Ysolda murmured quietly from behind her.

The warrior turned with a sigh. Before she could even open her mouth to explain, she was hit by such a powerful slap that she could scarcely believe the merchant was the one behind it.

“_That_ was for being an idiot, for nearly burning down that tavern _and_ for nearly murdering that man.” The redhead scowled fiercely.

Rama didn’t know what to say, she stood there numbly under the Nord’s glare for a few moments. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, she was cut off again. This time, by full lips on hers, Ysolda was suddenly kissing her with a desperate passion that shut out all the cold.

“And _that_,” Ysolda smiled when they separated, “Was for everything else.”

Rama wasn’t sure what to say or what to do. Was Ysolda still mad at her? The Nord was smiling, but the Orc’s cheek still burned with the merchant’s ire. After a long moment of silence, Rama decided to throw caution to the wind. She picked the Nord up into her arms in one swift motion. Ysolda yelped a little at the sudden movement but was quickly silenced by green lips.

The merchant chuckled and wrapped her legs around the warrior’s torso as best she could in her dress. Rama purred into the kiss as Ysolda responded with vigour. They stood there for a while, swaying in the snowfall of a beautiful evening.

xxx

The soft sound of slow, steady breathing was all that Rama could hear. It was all at once a strange sound, not one she was used to. It was also the most seductive sound she’d ever heard. The Orc sleepily eased her eyes open, dark rafters overhead greeted her. It was still deep in the depths of night. She turned her head to one side, through the veil of night she could make out the candlestick stood atop the nightstand, its flame had long since died.

Rama felt a slight shift in weight upon her and she looked down. Ysolda lay upon her chest. Red hair cast about messily as the merchant slept. The Orc felt a smile pull at her lips as she reached a hand up to tangle into the Nord’s hair. She leant a light kiss to the top of the human’s head as she closed her eyes again, feeling all at once at peace.

It was certainly not the usual sort of sleeping arrangements she was used to. She was more accustomed to sleeping rough on the side of a frozen road. The peace and warmth she was experiencing was certainly unusual, almost alien even, but Rama didn’t care. She was happy, that was all that mattered to her.

Despite the unpleasantness of earlier, they had decided to remain at the inn. Rama had wanted to move on for safety, but Ysolda saying that she felt safe and protected in the Orc’s presence was all the persuasion she needed. She’d fight the whole damn Empire if it meant keeping the redhead safe, the Aldmeri Dominion too.

A long murmur and another shifting of weight opened the Orc’s eyes again. Ysolda opened one delicate eye herself and smiled contently when she found Rama.

“Hey.” A sleepy croak from the Nord.

Rama merely murmured with a crooked smile as she leisurely stroked the Nord’s back.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Just thinking.”

“Oh?” The Nord adjusted her position and lay her arms over the warrior’s chest, resting her head in between the nook she made. She gazed into Rama’s eyes with absolute devotion. “What about?”

“You.”

A scratchy snicker. “You weren’t.”

“I was.”

“What were you really thinking about?”

“I told you … you.” Rama brought a hand up to feel through the merchant’s hair again.

Ysolda shook her head with a blush and an embarrassed smile. “Stop it.”

The Orc’s hand froze in red hair. “Sorry.”

“No, I mean- Stop being so adorable!” Ysolda gently hit the Orc in reprimand.

Rama softly chuckled.

“How can you be so quiet and serious all the time, then come out with sweet words like that?”

The Orc shook her head softly. She had no idea how she was being ‘adorable’. “I just … I love you.”

Ysolda made a strange noise. High pitched, deep in her throat. Her cheeks blossomed.

“I love you too, Rama.” Her head fell to Rama’s chest as she hugged the Orc close.

The Orc inhaled the Nord’s scent deeply with a smile.

“Remember how we first met?” The merchant asked quietly after a time.

“Hmm? You mean on the road?”

“That’s right. I’m almost ashamed to say it but … I was almost as frightened of you as the bandits. Who’d have thought that we’d have gotten together from back then?” Ysolda chuckled, the vibrations pleasing to the Orc.

“I think I always knew.” Rama murmured with a smile.

“Oh, did you now?” The merchant smirked, disbelieving.

“Yep.”

Another chuckle. “Well, I’m glad you were right.”

“Now go to sleep, we’ve still got a trek in the morning.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Ysolda scowled weakly with a long yawn.

“_Sleep_.” Rama pressed a kiss to the sleepy Nord’s forehead. “I’ll be right here.”

That seemed to please Ysolda, judging by the smile that took her lips. The Nord settled down atop the Orc with a contented sigh. She soon drifted off to sleep, Rama drawing lazy circles over her back till she too went under. They both lay there in peaceful silence, dreaming of each other, with smiles on their faces.


	5. A Home Together

**A Home Together**

“Rama, can you push those chairs in please?” Ysolda called as she bustled about the place, a sizeable collection of cloths and linens in her arms.

Rama grunted a reply and duly pushed the chairs a whole two or three inches further under their tables. She had no idea what difference that made to anything.

The pair worked about the Bannered Mare. Ysolda had been a flurry of nervous energy ever since laying hands on the tavern. It was almost like she expected her lifelong dream to slip through her fingers now that she finally had it in her grasp.

It hadn’t taken the merchant too long to get together all of the funds she needed for the purchase. Rama convinced her not to sell her home to do so, arguing she’d need a place to sleep just in case something fell through. That suggestion hadn’t gone down particularly well, but at least Ysolda heeded the Orc’s logic. In the end, it seemed like an unnecessary precaution. Hulda seemed glad to be passing the place into new ownership.

With the keys finally in her hands, Ysolda had taken to redecorating right away. Determined to put her own spin on the place, she’d set about rearranging and changing things immediately, though she was limited by the structural layout of the fire pit in the centre of the hall. Still, the Nord had thrown herself into the project with such gusto. Rama was certain that the Nord had been planning for this for years. The redhead had certainly not hesitated in taking any decision or opportunity to putting her own spin on the place.

Naturally, Rama had been co-opted into helping out. Mostly with moving the furniture about, heavy lifting and anything else that required a bit of muscle. The Orc didn’t mind. She had no patience for the fiddlier tasks of painting and flower arranging.

In short order after the purchase had been approved, the Bannered Mare was fully renovated and ready to open under its new management.

“Is everything in place? Is anything missing, do you think?” Ysolda paced about the inn biting her lip, her hands on hips and expression anxious.

“Relax.” Rama made to hold the Nord’s shoulders but the merchant’s pacing was too quick. “Everything will be fine.”

“What if there’s something I missed?”

“You won’t, you’ve thought of everything.”

If anything, the Nord had thought of _too_ much. Rama really doubted the Mare’s patrons would give a second thought to the type of lacquer used on the wooden beams and furniture. As long as there was mead and ale, and plenty of it, Rama was sure the reopening would be a huge success. Rama had made sure that detail hadn’t been overlooked by the Nord.

“But what if I have!”

Rama sighed heavily before seizing Ysolda by the arms. She planted a long, deep kiss on the Nord’s lips. That usually calmed her down.

“Everything will be fine. You need to stop worrying.”

Ysolda’s eyes were delectably unfocussed as they lingered on the Orc’s lips.

“Right. You’re right.” The merchant murmured with a hint of a smile.

“You’re going to do great.” The warrior soothed. “And I’ll be right here.”

“You will?” Ysolda’s eyes lit up. It was almost as if she expected the Orc to pick up her axe and announce she was leaving the Nord for good.

“Yes.”

That lovely smile finally returned in full. “Ok. Ok. I can do this.”

“That’s my girl.” Rama smirked, pulling Ysolda into a quick hug.

Ysolda quickly went back to running about in a frenzy as opening time neared. Saadia soon arrived to start her shift. The beautiful redguard was popular with the regulars and she knew the business well, so Ysolda had naturally kept her on. The three of them made their final preparations and Ysolda checked everything over another two or three times.

Then, the doors finally opened and the first customers began filing in. Rama was almost astonished to see Ysolda’s confidence return like a tidal wave. It was almost as if the last few frantic hours had never happened. The Nord really was a natural with customers. Rama just knew she’d do brilliantly. As the day turned to night, the re-opening of the Bannered Mare was turning into a huge success. Patrons from across the city and beyond were turning up to see the tavern under new management. Rama had silently been a tad worried, the closing of the tavern for the renovations had annoyed a few of the regulars, but they seemed to have returned with enthusiasm to spend their coin. Thankfully, Rama hadn’t needed to get threatening or throw anyone out. She hoped to keep Ysolda’s big night violence free.

“Hey, can I get some service over here!”

The call drew Rama’s attention and her glare. It didn’t soften when she saw Jenassa waving the Orc over from a seat in the corner. The dark elf already had a flagon near full to the brim. Rama sighed and wandered over to humour the other sell-sword.

“Done well for yourself, haven’t you?” The Dunmer cast her gaze about the tavern appreciatively.

“It’s Ysolda’s place.” The Orc corrected. “I’m just here to make sure no one tries anything.”

“Is that so? Never took you for the bodyguard type. Though I guess you fit the bill, green skin, you certainly have the look for it. She pays you well though?” Jenassa smirked with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Not all payment’s in gold after all.”

Rama scowled darkly. “Watch your mouth. I don’t want to spoil Ysolda’s night by throwing someone out, but I will.”

“Relax, big girl!” Jenassa held up her hands with a placating smirk. “I’m only teasing.”

The Orc gave the Dunmer another glare just to underline her point then nodded gruffly.

“So,” Jenassa continued unabashed, “Can I get a tab?”

“No.”

“Come on!” The Dunmer moaned with a shocked expression. Rama didn’t believe it was genuine for a second. “You know, you’re supposed to help out your friends when you make it in life. Did no one ever tell you?”

The Orc merely ignored her.

“Hey!”

The shout from the other side of the tavern drew Orc and Dunmer attention immediately. A Nord man had his hands planted on the bar and was scowling down at Ysolda. His cheeks were already rosy from too much drink. Rama immediately snarled but resisted the urge to pull her axe free. Ysolda had tried to ban her from having the weapon on the tavern floor, but Rama had successfully argued that many of their patrons would be armed. The Orc quickly noted that this troublemaker had an axe at his hip.

“I want another! This one’s just froth!” He held up a perfectly acceptable flagon, Rama could hear it sloshing full of mead.

“No.” Ysolda narrowed her eyes at the burly drunk and held her ground. “I think you’ve had enough.” She murmured calmly. The Nord was surely aware that the tavern had gone nearly completely silent and that all eyes were on the exchange.

“I’ll say when I’ve had enough!” The drunk hurled his flagon at Ysolda. He missed badly and the drink sailed off to the side, spraying the wall with coppery liquid. A bunch of idiots in the back of the tavern cheered and jeered.

Ysolda’s gaze followed the offending flagon as it clattered to rest on the floor. Then, she slowly swung her glare to bear on the drunk. The man actually recoiled a little.

Rama was more than a little proud.

Now Rama marched over. A few of the smarter patrons between her and the troublemaker quickly got out of her way. With a growl on her lips, she spun the drunk around and pinned him against the bar. It was a credit to how much he’d already drank that he didn’t seem to immediately register the imminent danger of an angry Orc pressed into his face. His eyes swung about confused.

“You’re paying for that.” Rama growled low and dangerous. Her snarling face mere inches from his.

“Oh yeah? Make me!”

Once upon a time, Rama would have simply head-butted the drunk. Then, she’d have kept on head-butting until he either paid up, fell unconscious, or worse. But this was a new time, a new Rama and, more importantly, this was Ysolda’s night.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” The Orc snarled. Her grip around his collar tightened and she sensed the whole tavern still as they watched. She saw Ysolda out of the corner of her eye, arms crossed with something of a smirk on her lips. Time had changed her as well it seemed.

The drunk’s eyes flashed to the side for a second. Rama followed it instinctually. The quick patter of footsteps reached her ears. She spun on the spot, dragging the drunk around with her. The bottle that was meant for the back of her head smashed on the troublemaker’s temple and he flopped to the ground out cold.

The new assailant froze for a second, another Nord. _Why is it always Nords?_ His expression quickly shifted from surprise to anger. With a growl, he reached down to the sword at his hip.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, tough guy!”

The sudden shout from across the room pulled the Nord’s attention. He looked over. A horrible mistake, taking his attention away from the angry Orc in front of him.

Rama crossed the distance between them in one heartbeat and with the next she drove her fist into his cheek. She connected solidly. He went flying across the room and slammed into a table, pushing it a solid foot from its starting position. The nearby patrons gasped in surprise and jerked back.

Rama glanced over to the side of the room. Jenassa leisurely saluted the Orc with her flagon.

“You’re welcome.” The Dunmer smirked, taking a hearty swig.

The scrape of chairs and tables on the freshly varnished floor screeched throughout the tavern. As Rama turned towards the noise, she could almost picture Ysolda’s horrified expression at such treatment of her beloved tavern. A host of armed individuals had suddenly gotten up from the back, near the staircase, the same idiots who had cheered earlier. _Not all of them Nords this time_, Rama thought idly.

“Hey! You’ll pay for that!” Ysolda’s angry shout rang out ignored.

“It was supposed to be Rogir’s birthday.” Their leader scowled. “We just wanted a nice, friendly little drink.” He drew his sword with a sharp shriek. The patrons nearest made a quick bolt for the doors. The leader’s scowl turned into a malicious grin. “Oh well, guess we can still have a little fun, can’t we boys and girls?”

An overly dramatic sigh emanated from behind Rama, but she didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Great, more idiots.” Jenassa drawled as she strode up besides Rama. The Dunmer drew her sword with shrill scrape of her own and swung it in quick, sharp circles to limber up.

“Hey! I want no blood on my carpets!” Ysolda directed her ire at Rama and Jenassa.

Rama narrowed her eyes at her lover with an incredulous expression. She hadn’t even drawn her weapon. _Yet_.

“This isn’t my first tavern brawl, you know.” Jenassa smirked before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to the Orc. “Bet I can floor more than you.”

Rama did a quick count. Nine bandits in all. “I’ll take that bet.” The Orc cracked her neck side to side.

“Grand, I get a tab if I win!”

Jenassa rushed in before the Orc or Ysolda could refuse. The nearest bandit didn’t see it coming and could only yelp as the Dunmer punched him square in the jaw with her free hand. He went down like a sack of spuds.

Chuckling to herself, Rama followed suit.

The tavern exploded into noise and chaos as the two sell swords lay into the bandits. Rama grabbed the first bandit she reached by the scruff of the neck and threw her head into his face. With a cry and a burst of blood, the man fell into the table at his back with a clatter, spilling drinks and plates of food onto the freshly varnished floor.

“Hey!” Ysolda’s angry growl somehow cut across the shouts and clatter of battle. “You’re cleaning this up after!”

Rama blocked an incoming fist with one hand as she turned her head to glower at her lover. She would have argued, or at least shouted an incredulous ‘Hey!’ back, but then another fist connected solidly with her stomach, winding her. Rama swung a venomous look at the guilty party. A fellow Orc, this one male, large and most definitely drunk. Before Rama could do anything, a bottle soared into her vision and clouted the bandit Orc in the side of the head, shattering instantly and scattering a cascade of green tinted glass and coppery liquid across the two combatants.

“Leave her alone!” Ysolda roared.

Rama was almost as surprised at the Nord’s ire as she was at how good a throw that was from across the tavern.

Dazed, the bandit Orc staggered back a little, giving Rama a clean opening to deliver a solid uppercut. The drunk Orc dropped back and didn’t get up again.

Rama chanced a quick look around the place. The regulars who had just wanted a quiet drink had all fled for the door in a stampede. Saadia had wisely used the commotion to duck back behind the bar and pick up a kitchen knife for protection. She eyed anyone who came too close with a wary scowl.

“You’re a feisty lot, ain’t ya?” Jenassa laughed as she delivered a quick elbow to break a nose.

Rama said nothing. She never did during a fight. The only way the Orc choose to communicate was through her wrath.

A couple more louts went down in quick succession before the giant, green skinned warrior. Then, she was shunted forward as a body crashed into her back and grappled with her. Rama growled in annoyance as she tried in vain to throw them off. A heavy blow to the back of her head mad her see stars for a long sickening moment.

“Just wanted a drink!” The angry growl in her ear sneered, the leader of the rabble who had drawn his sword first. “That’s all we wanted!”

“Rama!” Ysolda cried, hefting another bottle as she beckoned. “Here!”

Smirking, Rama duly obeyed. She surged over towards the counter and spun her body at the last second, winding the man at her back. At the same time, Ysolda swiped at the bandit with her bottle. Rama heard it shatter into sprinkling shards. The thug loosened his grip and at last Rama broke free. She turned out from the grapple and seized him by the collar of his shirt.

Already dazed, the bandit struggled to focus his gaze on the ferocious Orc in front of him.

Rama smirked, then roared – a bestial, incoherent noise – tusks bared with malice.

The bandit withered away as best he could in the Orc’s vicelike grip.

Satisfied, Rama dropped the man to the ground. The bandit promptly staggered up to his feet and bolted for the door, his sword dropped and forgotten on the floor.

Rama looked up to find Ysolda’s wide eyes. The Nord looked shocked, breathing heavily from the stress. When she found the Orc’s gaze, she half nodded. Then, the merchant pulled the warrior in by the collar for a kiss.

Rama chuckled under her breath.

The air finally fell still and silent. The only sounds were the light groaning of the men on the floor and the crackle of the fire. Jenassa had finished off the rest of the rabble. She paced about with a hard glare, almost daring any of them to stand up again. Rama cast a quick look around, all of their work, all of _Ysolda’s_ hard work, was now a mess of food, ale and glass on the freshly varnished floor.

“Sorry for making a mess.” Rama grimaced.

Ysolda breathed in deep through her nose as she looked around. Her expression somewhat perturbed. Then, she half shrugged and moved in for another kiss. When they parted, she gripped Rama’s collar like a vice. The merchant’s eyes were dark and deadly. “_You’re _cleaning this all up.”

Rama gulped and chuckled softly.

A murmur snapped their attention away from each other. One of the men was trying to get up from the floor.

Before Rama could react, Jenassa was already there. The Dunmer rounded on the man and delivered a solid kick to the head, knocking him out cold. She spat on him for good measure.

“So,” Jenassa began with a hint of a smirk, “About that tab.”

xxx

To say Ysolda had been quite annoyed would be an understatement.

In all the ways Ysolda imagined her opening night would go, a large brawl was low down the list of possibilities. It was always possible, but she had made it particularly clear to Rama that she wanted no fighting on her opening night. Upon failure of that simple task, the Nord had naturally put both Rama and Jenassa to work cleaning up the mess that was her beautiful new tavern. She knew that the fight was neither woman’s fault of course, but they had done nothing to stop the fighting … apart from beating the bandits senseless.

Once she was finally satisfied with their work, Ysolda sent Jenassa on her merry way – _without_ a tab – and Rama had wisely decided to leave as well, muttering something about a quest of sorts. Ysolda knew it was probably just an excuse to get away from the Nord’s scolding gaze, or just to get away from scrubbing brushes and dusters and buckets of soapy water for a while. She could hardly blame the green skinned woman. In fact, Ysolda was grateful for the chance to calm down in isolation.

That had been a couple of days ago now.

Ysolda didn’t inherently mind, she knew that Rama wasn’t one for keeping cooped up indoors all day. She could hardly expect Rama to sit around the tavern all the time like her own personal bodyguard. The Nord wasn’t about to deprive the Orc of her adventurers. If nothing else, it got any restless energy out of her systems. Still, she did miss Rama whenever she went out on her own.

One plus side of the solitude was that it gave Ysolda the chance to try to tackle her finances in peace.

Ysolda sighed with as she tapped her quill on the table irritably. Something was off with her latest figures, she was missing something somewhere but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It annoyed her no end, she never lost tracked of her finances, ever. Not even a single septim. It just didn’t happen. She felt her head pulsating a little, all the stress of the brawl, the grand opening and even the last few months and years working hard to build enough money to buy the Bannered Mare, it was all beginning to take its toll on her. She could feel the beginnings of a major headache coming on.

Ysolda pushed away from the table and leaned back in her seat with a sigh. She could always figure out what was wrong later. The Nord closed her eyes. She realised that this was the first time she had ever heard the tavern so quiet. It felt wrong somehow.

“Where is she?” Ysolda muttered to herself. She turned to peek out of the window behind her, it was dark outside, only the moons and stars twinkled overhead. A whistle of the wind brought a flurry of snow with it. Ysolda sighed, disappointed. It was surely far too late for Rama to still be out. The Orc had probably found an inn or settled down to camp somewhere for the night. She’d have to wait another day it seemed.

It wasn’t that Ysolda was particularly worried about the other woman. By the Divines, the Orc could certainly take care of herself. No, it was more that she simply missed the tall green oaf. She couldn’t even remember what Rama had gone off to try and accomplish in the first place. All of the Orc’s little missions sounded the same to Ysolda. Go here, kill this. Go there, kill that. Ysolda wondered just what her lover had been doing the last few days, how many lives she’d taken. It wasn’t that she disapproved inherently. Skyrim was a dangerous place at the best of times and good warriors were always needed to keep the land safe. She just wished that the Orc wouldn’t put herself in harm’s way so readily. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to sit around worrying so much.

The side door suddenly opened with a rattle, seizing Ysolda’s attention immediately.

In walked the Orc herself. Rama dredged over the threshold with a blast of cold snow, head and shoulders covered in white. The warrior shut the door behind her with a slam and shook herself off vigorously, snow fell from her form and immediately began to melt on warm wood beams and carpet.

“What time do you call this?” The merchant demanded, arms crossed as she got up and marched over.

The Orc lifted her gaze to the Nord as she wiped the snow from her short cropped hair. She looked slightly confused for a second.

“I don’t know. Late?”

“Yes, it is.” Ysolda narrowed her gaze.

Rama merely blinked and half shrugged. She continued to shake snow off onto Ysolda’s pristine wood floors.

“What were you off doing this time?”

The Orc shuffled on her feet a little. Was she blushing? Then, she brought free a small square package from underneath her cloak. Rama offered the parcel to the Nord with a half grunt.

Intrigued, Ysolda accepted the package, keeping her annoyed glare on the green skinned giant. She ripped open the brown paper and opened the square box. She found her gaze softening at what was inside.

“I wanted to get you … this.” Rama offered with a vague hand gesture.

“Rama.” Ysolda breathed. “Is this … Is this what I think …”

The Orc scratched at her neck a little nervously. “An- An amulet.”

“It’s an amulet of Mara.” Ysolda found herself smiling widely now. “Does- does this mean what I think it does?”

The Orc was definitely blushing now, she shrugged as if it was of no importance.

“I- Sure- I mean, if you want it to be, that is.”

The merchant bit her lip as she watched Rama squirm. _Gods, she can be so adorable. _All of Ysolda’s annoyance was lost to the winds outside now.

“You know.” Ysolda began, taking the golden amulet from the package fully. “It’s traditional for one person to wear an amulet. Then, they wait to see if someone … shows an interest.”

Smirking, Ysolda took the amulet and placed it around her own neck. She put a bit too much effort into throwing her hair out from beneath the cord.

“Well? How do I look?”

Rama coughed roughly. “Beautiful.” She seemed even more embarrassed to say that one word alone.

“Well, is there anything you wish to ask me?” Ysolda paced right up to the Orc, putting her hands on the warrior’s strong shoulders and smiling sweetly.

“I …” Green cheeks were decidedly red now.

“Yes?”

“Marry me!” Rama blurted out suddenly, more of a bark than a question. The Orc immediately buried her head in a hand, her eyes scrunched up in embarrassed anguish.

It was so adorable.

Ysolda almost burst out laughing. Instead she chuckled warmly.

“Yes! Always, yes.”

One amber eye slowly opened, disbelieving. Ysolda nodded to the unspoken question with a wide smile. Rama let out a long nervous breath, her frame relaxed immediately before she pulled the Nord into a warm embrace.

“I knew you’d get there eventually.” The merchant teased.

“You really mean it?” The Orc was still unsure.

“Rama.” Ysolda eased back and cupped a green cheek with her hand. “I’m serious. I _love_ you. I want to marry you.”

The warrior finally smiled, a silly little smile that adorned her tusked mouth. She swopped down to claim Ysolda’s lips, and her heart, in a kiss. They chuckled together when they parted, holding each other close and murmuring sweet nothings as the soft snowfall glided past the window.


End file.
